


Hospital Flowers

by orphan_account



Category: Pet Shop of Horrors
Genre: Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 21:11:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He feels resentful (towards the assassin), guilty (that just when he finally got close to Chris he left him again, and now he may never have the chance to be a decent big brother), and frustrated (that fifteen months after leaving LA he’s still no closer to finding D).</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Hospital Flowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cease](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cease/gifts).



> Big thanks to Nera for the speedy beta, and iBear for some very helpful canon research after I'd left my books on the other side of the country. You two are wonderful!

Leon has stared down the wrong end of too many guns in his life. It comes with the territory, US city cops are trained to deal with armed assailants, and Leon has never been one to panic. Today though, he’s not even scared. He feels resentful (towards the assassin), guilty (that just when he finally got close to Chris he left him again, and now he may never have the chance to be a decent big brother), and frustrated (that fifteen months after leaving LA he’s still no closer to finding D).

The face behind the barrel, cloaked in shadow, was the worst type to be faced with. Career criminals want to avoid deaths and hefty prison sentences where they can; depressed and desperate family members can be reasoned with; but those without purpose, toting a gun just because they want to, those are the ones that no level of training can help with.

Leon was utterly unsurprised when he saw the flash of exploding gunpowder. The harsh pound of the impacting bullet hardly registered before he crumpled to the ground.

********** 

“Can I help you?”

The woman waiting at the ward entrance was one of the most striking individuals the nurse had ever seen; from her immaculate hair, past colourful contact lenses, to blood-red fingernails that contrasted beautifully with the emerald green of the flowerpot she held at her stomach, there was nothing about the visitor that wasn’t perfect. The nurse was just admiring the drape of her robe around her ankles when the visitor spoke, the smooth yet undeniably masculine voice startling her into realising her mistake, and she coloured with the knowledge of narrowly-averted humiliation.

“I’d like to see Mr Orcot, please,” he said, the picture of decorous calm. The nurse smiled, glad that someone had finally come to visit the foreigner, but there were protocols to be observed.

“Of course sir, are you a relative?”

“Just an old friend,” he replied. “Leon has no relatives in Europe.”

There was something hypnotic about the visitor’s voice, a persuasive lilt that convinced her to agree without any further questioning. “Of course, I understand. Unfortunately, we don’t allow plants in the ward for hygiene reasons. I’d be happy to take it from you,” she offered, and was surprised to see the man’s delicate fingers tense slightly on the pot.

“That’s quite alright. I’ll take it back and return," he replied, before turning in a cascade of silk and gliding down the corridor.

When the man eventually returned, the nurse led him directly to Mr Orcot’s bed, explaining the severity of the situation on the way. The comatose man looked strangely small against the stark white bedsheets, despite his muscular frame. A subtle request and smile had the nurse drawing the curtains around the bed to leave them in peace.

********** 

D approached the bed, one slim arm reaching out unconsciously to smooth a crease alongside Leon’s wrist.

“Well, my dear Detective, you clearly haven’t learnt restraint since we last spoke.” D murmured, allowing his fingers to ghost over the bandages covering Leon’s chest.

After several minutes spent staring at the prone form D moved to stand alongside Leon’s pillow. Reaching into a narrow slit in his cheongsam, he withdrew a tiny plant cutting and tucked it beneath Leon’s ear.

“I presume you remember Gattalotto? Trust in her, she will help you.” With that, D brushed a fleeting hand across Leon’s brow, fixing the unusually-long hair that spoke of many months without a visit to the barber, drew back the curtain and departed in a flurry of robes, pausing only briefly to speak with the nurse.

********** 

Leon was alone, falling, the impact of the bullet sending him tumbling, tumbling, tumbling. There was no time in this place, just empty air and pain. The nausea as he spun towards the ground but never met it was overwhelming. He’d always imagined that when he died it’d be to a montage of Chris and Jill and his biggest successes on the force and maybe (he had grudgingly begun to accept) a few mentions of D. If he was very lucky, the girls papering the walls of his old apartment would turn up too. This never-ending blackness could not be right.

Eventually, a flash of green caught Leon’s eye, a single long vine wriggling out of the darkness. There was no light source here, but the plant was a clear as any dark object in a dimly lit room could hope to be. He thrust out a hand, desperate to grab it, to find any anchor in the void. He managed to touch a single leaf, feeling his plummet slow as a familiar velvet softness passed beneath his fingertips, but he couldn’t find a grip, and soon he was falling again. Anger flowed through him at the idea that had been his final chance, that the universe would be so cruel as to offer a shred of hope, only to jerk it out of reach. He was powerless again, like a plaything of D’s father, and he opened his mouth to yell, only to find himself choking on something in his throat, and as he coughed hundreds of vines whipped around him and gracefully lowered him to the ground.

********** 

Nearly a week had passed since Leon had woken in the ICU, struggling against the tube in his throat, and utterly astonishing the medics. It had taken four days before he was well enough to be moved, and another two before the single card on his beside cabinet finally registered. Asking for it to be passed down, Leon snorted at the generic design, a cheap staple of all hospital gift shops, and unfolded it. Inside was nothing more than the card’s pre-printed message wishing Leon a speedy recovery, the initial “G”, and a brittle dried leaf glued to the paper. Running his fingers over it in confusion, images of the last few weeks flooded into his mind, plants and voices and a soft touch to his brow, and he begged the orderly to find his first nurse.

It was nearly two days before the nurse finally came to see him, apologising for the delay as soon as she arrived. Leon, sitting up now and growing in strength by the day, begged her to tell him if his dream visitor had been real. She smiled, clearly enraptured, and described a charismatic man of Chinese origin, perfect in every particular. Leon, hopeful but still wary, questioned her as thoroughly as he could, until finally she mentioned the visitor’s unmatched contact lenses. Exhilaration flowed through him; D had been here.

Suddenly animated, Leon asked if the visitor had said anything before he left, and was rewarded with the answer “He told me to say that he’ll see you when you are ready, but not before.”

The nurse looked concerned at the message, but Leon simple sunk into the pillows and smiled. D was still out there, watching him, and one day his search would be successful.


End file.
